Ron and Hermione are still on the outs as Hogwarts returns from holiday. Schoolwork resumes with vigor, and their sessions with Dumbledore also start back up again. Meaning more late and simultaneously sleepless nights for Miranda. Her eye bags are so large they may as well start carrying things for her. She feels distant, almost— separate from eyone in her life, including Matt and Harry.

She walks out of her last class of the day, exhausted, arms overflowing with books. Her stack is so high that she can barely see two feet ahead of her, and her peripheral vision is life threateningly obscured. Literally. For she does not see the approaching figure of a certain blonde until it is far too late.

"Hey, Miranda. Looking good." the smarmy voice of Zacharias Smith fills her ears, unpleasantly so. She fights the urge to cringe. "Where you headed?"

"Smith," Miranda acknowledges cordially, staring straight ahead. Why is he walking so damn close to her? What happened to personal space?

"Want me to carry your books for you?" Zacharias offers, flexing his pitiful arm muscles. "Put these beauts to work, if y'know what I mean."

Miranda exhales irritably, "Perfectly capable of carrying my own books, thanks." Privately, she thinks she could probably win an arm wrestling match against him in a heartbeat. Though, she supposes his masculinity is fragile enough already without her shattering it.

"Playing hard to get, are we?" Smith leers, as Miranda steadily inches away from him. "I can be down with that."

Miranda blinks very rapidly at him, disbelieving. "I'm dating Harry," she says, hoping this time it will sink in. "Have been for quite a while. You know this. It's not new information."

Smith just throws his head back and chortles, as if she's just said the funniest thing in the world. "You didn't think that was going to stop me, did you?"

"Yes!" Miranda says emphatically, feeling as if she's going a bit insane. "What about my extremely secure and serious relationship with Harry has led you to believe that I would even consider going out with you?" She adds pointedly, "and I told you no at least twice even before Harry and I started seeing one another."

Apparently Zacharias does not catch this last bit, or chose not to hear, for all he replies with is, "So you've considered it?"

"No," Miranda cries out, in a state of complete astonishment. "That's what you— I don't even— how is that what you got from—?" It's been confirmed. She's going insane. And it's Zacharias Smith's fault.

The Hufflepuff scoffs, "It's not as if you've asked me to stop—"

"I have!" Miranda exclaims, practically shrilly. "Several times."

"As have I," Harry swoops in from the next corridor over, eyeing Smith with a withering look. He snakes a possessive arm around Miranda's waist, pulling her tight to him. Not that she minds. It is a more than welcome intrusion and response. "Thanks for keeping my girlfriend company," Harry smiles condescendingly down at Smith. "We're going to go now," he waves goodbye. "Together. Because we're a couple."

Miranda smirks as they traipse down the hall together, secretly very pleased. She notes that Harry has not loosened his grip on her torso and feels a pleasant little kick in the base of her stomach. "Jealous, are we?" she teases, eyes sparkling.

"Well—yes," Harry admits sheepishly. Then, with a quirk of his mouth, "But I've got a right to be when you go around looking so beautiful all the time."

Miranda blushes, turning her chin up, "Flattery will get you nowhere, Potter."

"Oh I beg to differ," Harry grins, dipping his head to kiss her at the foot of the winding staircase. Miranda returns his gesture in full, her mouth parting to match the bold strokes of his tongue. She wraps her arms around his neck,  as he nips at hers, angling herself upwards, and she is just about to—

"For fuck's sake," an annoyed voice says. Mateo is scowling very deeply at them, decidedly sickened.

"People walk here you know," Hermione informs them with a lift of her eyebrow.

Mateo and Harry are talking about the upcoming Quidditch Cup game, discussing strategies if they are forced to play without Katie Bell, who has still not recovered from her cursing incident.

"I'm just saying," Harry continues, "Dean needs more practice if he's going to keep up with Ginny."

Mateo scowls at the mention of Dean's name. Miranda contains a bout of laughter. Her brother really needs to work on his subtlety. He was almost as bad as Ron. "Maybe you should hold a practice today then mate," he suggests casually. "I think the pitch is open, or you could just not play Dean at all...." Miranda and Hermione share an identical smirk, with Mateo pointedly ignores.

"But there's no one else," Harry replies, frustrated. "It's not as if I can put Colin in, as much as the kid wants to play."

"Katie could come back," Miranda offers hopefully, squeezing Harry's arm. Even if she doesn't understand it, she knows how important Quidditch is to Harry.

Harry nods, sighing heavily, "Let's pray to Merlin she does." He continues, as they turned down another corridor, "In the meantime I think you're right, Matt. We should have another practice today to figure out lineups." He entwines his hand with Miranda's, apparently unable to bear not touching her for more than five seconds. Yet again, she doesn't mind, quite wishing they hadn't been interrupted a few minutes ago. There was no damn privacy in this castle.

Speaking of privacy, and those who seemingly don't care about finding it, Miranda spies Ron sitting at a nearby alcove with, you guessed it, Lavender Brown. He's regrettably wearing that hideous necklace she gave him for Christmas, and Miranda briefly wonders how on earth Lavender managed to coerce him into that.  Hermione's mouth curls in disgust, but she does not scurry off. A distinct improvement, in Miranda's book.

"Oi! Ron!" Harry calls, averting his eyes. "We're having practice at 4, spread the word."

Ron nods, his response barley discernible through the numerous kisses Lavender is attacking him with, "I'll be there."

"But Won Won," Lavender whines, wrapping her arms around his neck, "you promised to take me to Madame Puddifoot's tonight." Ron looks a bit put out, feverishly trying to disentangle himself from her grasp.

Harry is desperately uncomfortable, and Miranda and Mateo stifle a laugh, while Hermione stares fixedly at the nearest portrait. Her features are pinched, drawn tightly together.

Harry scratches his head, eyes darting anywhere but at Ron and Lavender, "Er—well if you can't come, mate, then I guess—"

"No!" Ron practically shouts. Miranda does not feel sorry for him in the slightest. "I'm going to come," he insists, a wild look about him. Lavender pouts, her bottom lip pooching out excessively. "Sorry Laven—" The girl makes a high pitched noise of protest. "Oh yeah," Ron remembers, gulping. He clears his throat, pink in the face, "Sorry, Lav Lav, I'll take you tomorrow."

Miranda can't take it any longer, a snort escapes her lips. She coughs very very loudly to cover it up, but it doesn't stop Ron from glaring at her with the dirtiest look she's ever seen. Lavender squeals in delight, giggling as she kisses him noisily, her lips smacking. She plays with his hair. Ron grimaces, cheeks  bright red at this point.

"Erm—right then. We'll see you at 4." Harry adjusts his glasses, shifting from foot to foot.

"Bye Won Won," Miranda waggles her fingers, unable to resist. Come on. How was she expected to pass that sort of chance up? The four friends continue down the corridor, eager to get a breath of fresh air.

"We'll be fine, Harry," Mateo encourages, as Harry's expression remains downcast. He chuckles, smiling to himself slightly. He looks as though he's lost in his own word, talking to himself more than anyone else. "Let's be honest, Ginny's so good that we could have one Chaser if we wanted."

"Talking about me Matt?" Ginny appears as if out of nowhere on Mateo's left. "I'm flattered," she teases, nudging him with her elbow.

Matt blushes profusely, stammering out a string of incoherence, "Erm—yes, I—well—we—er—and I—"

Her brother is flustered beyond belief, reduced to a blithering puddle just from Ginny Weasley smiling at him. It was very entertaining. Miranda rolls her eyes, "They're talking about if Katie's still out, they'll need Dean to sub."

Mateo finally regains control over his voice, saying honestly, "I said that even if Dean was rubbish we still had a shot because you're so brilliant at Quidditch." A brilliant smile passes over Ginny's face then, and Miranda notices a pink flush creeping up her neck. "Sorry," he mutters sheepishly. "I know you guys are...together." Mateo says that last part with much difficulty, practically spits the word out of his mouth.

"Oh no—we broke up ages ago," Ginny informs them airily, waving her hand. She is unaffected, as if telling them something so very inconsequential that she'd nearly not mentioned it at all.

"WHAT?!" Miranda and Hermione shriek in unison. This is news to them. Big news. "When did this happen?" Miranda demands , eager to know every single detail possible.

"Right before holiday," Ginny replies nonchalantly. Ginny explains, "Just after Slughorn's party." She presses her lips together in question, "You guys really didn't know?" All four of them shake their heads. Mateo looks positively delighted, and is failing to hide his obvious ecstasy.

"It was never right to begin with," Ginny notes, with a lift of her shoulder. "No hard feelings of course. We just didn't work together." She throws Matt a sneaking, mischievous glance, flipping her red mane. "Plus, he really is rubbish at Quidditch." She grins, "He was a good snog though."

"Ginny!" Hermione swats her arm, scandalized. Miranda laughs, while Harry and Mateo look decidedly sickened.

"So— erm—you're available then?" Matt asks with an air of innocence, sweeping his dark curly hair off his forehead in an attempt to look suave. Miranda smacks her head, internally dying of embarrassment for her idiotic brother. This. This was what Romilda Vane wanted? He was such a dork.

Really, the hair swoop?

Shove off.

"I'm a free agent," Ginny tosses her schoolbag over her shoulder,  not making direct eye contact with Mateo. Her voice is light. "Why?"

"No reason," says Mateo, clearing his throat several times. He rubs a hand over his chin, "Just good to know."

Ginny's eyebrows shoot up, her lips coy, "Good to know?"

"Mmhmm," Mateo murmurs, trying to keep a straight face, but neither him nor Ginny can suppress the obvious happiness on their faces. Harry, who has been mainly lost the entire exchange, looks from Mateo to Ginny. Something is slowly dawning on him.

His eyes widen slowly, jaw falling open at the realization, "Wait—!"

Miranda claps a hand over his mouth and drags him away before he can ruin the moment, Harry still pointing wildly at Matt and Ginny as she does.

"Ginny and—and Mateo—?!" Harry exclaims once they're out of earshot, and Miranda has released him. He paces back and forth, having trouble processing. "They—they like each other! He—and—and she— and whoa!"

Miranda giggles, hushing him, "Took you long enough."

"You mean you knew!" says Harry accusingly, affronted. Miranda secretly is very amused by his reaction. It's very cute.  "And you didn't tell me?"

"He's my brother."

"I'm your boyfriend," he reminds her stubbornly, frowning.

"To be fair," Miranda amends, her lips quirking.  "Hermione knew too."

"Why did he tell you guys and not me?" Harry crosses his arms, jutting out his bottom lip. He is evidently offended at having been kept out of the loop. Miranda sort of loves that he cares that much about her brother— that he's such good friends with him that he wanted to know. How far they've come.

"Technically, he didn't tell us," she explains. "We just sort of... made an educated guess." If reading your brother's mind with your secret powers you hadn't told your boyfriend about counted as an educated guess. Hey, it was true for Hermione anyways.

"How come I never noticed anything?"

Miranda bites her lip to conceal her smile, "I've said it before and I'll say it again, you're adorable when you're clueless." He really was. Really really really was.

Harry huffs, "I can't tell if that's an insult or a compliment."

"Take it as a compliment." Miranda whispers, rising on her tiptoes to press a lingering kiss to his lips. Harry deepens the kiss, as eager as she to finish what they started on the stairs earlier. The corridor is deserted. It's perfect.

His tongue swipes at her bottom lip, and Miranda's mouth parts voluntarily. One of his hands tangles in her golden waves, gripping a fistful of it. Miranda lets out a soft sigh of utter contentment, unable to help herself. He groans at the noise, a deep, rough, guttural rumble that makes Miranda's toes curl.

"God— you—"

"What?" Miranda breathes, breaking their embrace for just a moment.

He presses his forehead to hers, green eyes dark and clouded with an intense, downright dirty look. "That sound you make," he groans again, lips straying over her collarbone and down her neck. He back her up against the wall, fingers feathering up and splaying across her ribcage. His touch is like lightning. Her head knocks back, as Miranda shivers with pleasure, leaving Harry free to explore the exposed hollow of her throat. The trail of his kisses are like fire on her skin, setting her whole body aflame.

A noise of pure, unadulterated aversion came from behind them

Miranda springs apart from Harry, startled. Her cheeks are flushed with a distinct rosy hue, her hair mussed, a large purple mark starting to appear on her neck. There she finds a sneering Draco, whose eyes are zeroed in on her disheveled appearance. Her kiss swollen lips and over bright eyes. Her uniform skirt, bunched up around her hips, her shirt wrinkled. And— oh fuck the top two buttons were undone. When had that even happened? She has no recollection of Harry doing it, nor herself. Had they simply flown open of their own accord? Not the problem at hand.

Draco's nostrils flare, but besides that he acts as if Miranda doesn't exist.

Miranda inhales sharply, clutching Harry's hand tighter. Her heart constricts, her chest suddenly feeling very tight.

"Don't start with me Malfoy," Harry retorts, instinctively pulling Miranda closer to him. She doesn't mind.

Miranda stares at the ground, unable to look Draco in the eye, lest her heart crumble to bits. Their last conversation lingers in her mind.

Draco advances on Harry aggressively, and Miranda's pulse races. Not today. Please not today. She can't handle this.

"Try it," Harry steps forward protectively, one hand on his wand. "See what happens." The boys eye each other for a moment before Draco wavers, scoffing.

"I've got better things to do," he skulks off warily, and disappears around the corner. Miranda breathes in a sigh of relief, her body slackening against Harry's.

Harry scowls after him, tense, "He's always lurking somewhere." He shakes his head, "There's something going on. He's always missing class— Quidditch— he's a Death Eater." Miranda remains quiet, as Harry steamrolls ahead, not taking a breath. "I know he has something to with what happened to Katie. I don't care if—" He stops his rant, finally noticing Miranda's uncharacteristic silence. "Hey—are you okay?"

That is her tipping point. Miranda's eyes brim with tears, and she sinks down to the floor with her head in her hands.

"Is it Malfoy?" Harry peers at her with concern, settling down beside her on the floor. He tucks a strand of wayward hair behind her ear. "You never told me what happened that night."

She hadn't. She couldn't. It had been too fresh that night, and then she hadn't wanted to ruin Christmas. Not to mention, she is sort of scared to confess her true feeling to him. Draco—Malfoy will always be a touchy subject with the two of them.

A tear drips off of her chin. "It's stupid," she cries, swallowing the lump in her throat down. "This is stupid— I'm so stupid."

Harry softens, taking her hands in his own. "You are many things Mandy," he says, gently tracing the lines of her palm. "But stupid is not one of them." Harry gazes into her eyes, unyielding, "You can tell me anything you know that."

"He—when I covered for him—" Miranda exhales shakily, stung at the mere memory of it. "I tried to talk to him—and— and he—"

"Did he hurt you?" A vein throbs in Harry's forehead. His fists clench as he snarls, "I swear to god I'll—"

"No," Miranda says quickly, calming him. "He didn't do anything. I just thought that maybe we could reconcile, that—that if I could just get him to talk to me I could figure out what was going on and—and fix it—or help him." Even saying the words aloud felt like a punk of bricks weighing down on her. She had been so stupid. So naive. "But apparently I was wrong about him all these years. He told me it was all a lie, our whole friendship." Her voice breaks. "I'm such an idiot. I thought—I thought he was different and—" Miranda collapses into tears.

"It's okay. It's okay" Harry soothes, letting her cry  into his shirt.

"That's not even the worst part." Miranda throws her hands up, choking out, "And I know you don't want to listen to this because you hate him, and I love you, and I want to hate him." Her heart is aching horribly, and it feels like a knife in her gut. "I want to hate him so badly, Harry. You're probably right, he's probably a Death Eater and is going to do horrible things or already has done horrible things. I should hate him, hating him would be so much easier. It's what I'm supposed to do." Miranda's tone drops to a cracked, pained whisper,. "But I don't," she admits, guilt seeping through her. "I don't hate him. I can't hate him." She was a horrible person. She wouldn't be surprised if Harry was horrified with her. She knew she was with herself. Yet, she could not stop talking. It flooded out of her, unbidden. "I—and this is really bad— I miss him, Harry. I miss Draco. I miss my best friend." Only, he wasn't her best friend anymore. That much had been made clear. "I'm sorry." she sniffs, wiping her eyes. "I got your shirt all wet."

"S'alright," Harry replies, hugging her to his chest. "It's Ron's."

Miranda lets loose a strangled snicker, sighing as Harry helps her up. "I'm a mess," she remarks rather wryly, black smudges of teary mascara ringing her eyes.

"Only a little bit," Harry kisses her cheek, each of them straightening up before heading to the common room.

Mateo and Hermione are seated at a nearby table, bent over scrolls of parchment. Miranda does not believe those two ever rest. Mateo is already changed fro Quidditch, which harry takes as his cue to go up and get ready as well. Miranda flops down on the armchair next to Hermione, and Mateo frowns at her suspiciously.

What's wrong?

Nothing.

Miranda, I can read your mind.

And I can read yours. It's mostly about Ginny

Stop probing me!

I'm being a good student, Matt. Dumbledore said to practice.

Miranda winks at Mateo, and he sticks his tongue out at her. Meanwhile, Hermione finally glances up from her work, immediately spying the rapidly darkening bruise just below the curve of Miranda's chin.  "Miranda your neck! " she exclaims. "What—"

Miranda's hand flies to her neck, panicked as she hastily gathers her hair over it. She shakes her head imperceptibly at Hermione, gesturing towards Mateo. Mateo's eyes narrow to slits, "What's on your neck?"

"I—uh—a burn." Miranda scrambles, her entire life flashing before her eyes. Why was this happening? Why was this happening? "I burned myself with a curling iron this morning."

"Your hair's straight," Mateo points out, skeptical.

She blanches, caught. She searches frantically fro an alternate explanation. Lie. Lie at all costs. "Right, well that's because when I got burned I stopped using the curling iron and...um... I straightened the pieces I'd already curled."

"Really?" Mateo folds his arms over his chest.

"Yes?" Her voice is much higher than normal. Miranda sincerely hopes she's pulled this off.

"Are you sure?" Mateo prods, unwilling to let it go. "Because that seems like a weird—"

"What's with the third degree Matt? So many questions, Merlin's beard!" Miranda interjects before he can dig any deeper and find out the real reason she has a bruise on her neck. He'd probably strangle Harry. "Now go on, you have Quidditch." Harry appears from the stairs just then, and Miranda takes her opportunity. She practically shoves Matt out of the portrait hole, keeping her hair strategically draped over the incriminating mark.

Once they are gone she rounds on Hermione. "Hermione!"

"What?" Hermione says, confused. "Why didn't you want Matt to see your neck?"

Miranda sighs and brushes her hair back, letting Hermione see what it really is. "This is why," she mutters self consciously.

Hermione gasps, mouth forming an accusatory 'o'. "Burned yourself with a curling iron my arse," she cries out indignantly. "That's a hickey!"

"I know! How do you think Matt would've taken that?"

Hermione thinks about it for a short moment, grimacing, "That was a close one."

"Tell me about it." Miranda pinches the bridge of her nose, "How am I supposed to hide it from him? He is not going to buy that curling iron story for long."

Hermione snickers, "I've got some turtlenecks you can borrow."

"Thanks." Miranda relaxes, momentarily relieved.

Hermione arches an eyebrow, pursing her lips, "So Harry's giving you hickeys now?" Miranda hurls a quill at Hermione, the girls giggling as they continue to work, unaware of the trouble that lies ahead.

"So how was your Christmas?" Miranda poses the question cautiously. She'd missed Hermione something terrible over the holiday. It wasn't the same without her.

"Oh, fine," she shrugs. "Nothing special. How was it at Won- Won's?"

Miranda's face falls.  She prods Hermione gently with her foot, hoping for progress. "Look, Hermione, can't you — ?"

"No, I can't," she says flatly. "So don't even ask."
"I thought maybe, you know, over Christmas —" Miranda wheedles.

"Miranda—"

"I know." She looks too fierce to argue with at that moment, so Miranda drops the subject of Ron and recounted all that had happened over holiday.

"Thank you."

The following weekend, the Gryffindor common room is filled with an uproar of celebration as Harry and Mateo come in, wielding the giant Quidditch cup over their heads. Ginny is being hoisted in the air by both Ron and Katie Bell, who had returned just in time for the game. It had been a fantastic match, Ginny and Katie both falling back into their rhythm as they scored numerous goals against the opposing team.

Rest assured that Mateo was all too thrilled Dean did not get the chance to play.

Miranda and Hermione clap and whistle, smiling as they rest the trophy in the center of the room. Banners fly and lion's roars echo all around them.

Harry grabs Miranda around the waist and spins her around in the air. She laughs, throwing he head back as he tilts her chin toward his for a kiss.

"We won," Harry grins, his giddiness effervescent and contagious.  Miranda cannot help but beam back. These rare moments of happiness are fleeting, and Miranda feels the need to capture them for as long as they're worth.

"I was at the game, y'know," Miranda tells him, teasing. She brushes bits of grass off his sleeve.

"My good luck charm," says Harry sweetly, kissing her again. She is, of course, wearing Harry's Quidditch jumper. His name and number emblazoned in gold across the expanse of her back.

"I think Ginny did most of the work," Hermione jokes, sidling up to them and handing Harry and Miranda each a cup of pumpkin juice.

Miranda raises her cup, clicking it with Hermione's, "Amen to that."

The party continues, Mateo makes his way through the throng to try and find his sister. And then he sees her. Ginny, eyes bright, hair flowing behind her like fire as she moves. She looks beautiful, still in her Quidditch robes. And she is rocking them. In typical Ginny fashion. There is a speck of mud streaked across her nose, and Mateo longs to wipe it off with the pad of his thumb.

"Hey! Ginny!" Mateo waves her over, not sure what he's going to do, only that he has to do something. He has to do something.

"What's up?" Ginny comes over, breathless.

There's no chickening out now, he has to do this. Now or never. Everything he's been feeling since this firecracker of a girl stepped into his life has been building up, waiting for this moment. Waiting too long.

He still remembers the first time he saw her.  Really saw her. At the Ministry, that awful night. She'd been covered in blood and her eyes were blazing with strength despite the bruises and scratches all over her. There is a similar blaze to her eyes now.

Mateo takes a deep breath. "I just—" he swallows, steeling himself. "Would you—go on a date with me sometime?"

Ginny  waits a beat before she answers, her lips curving in an uncharacteristically soft manner. "Yeah, okay."

"Yeah?" Mateo repeats, almost speechless. He had done it.

"Yeah."

A slow smile spreads across Mateo's face. He runs his hand through his hair several times, face a pleasant pink color "Alright then—yeah alright." He is itching to do something, but is hesitant, still unsure whether it would be the right move. "So— so I—"

"Just shut up and kiss me, Matt." Ginny grabs his face with both of her hands and plants a hard, firm kiss on his mouth.

When Miranda, Hermione, and Harry finally find Mateo, Miranda knows first, immediately hearing the very loud thoughts coming from her brother's brain. Very loud.

I kissed her! Bloody hell I kissed her!

You kissed her?! That doesn't make sense. I bet she kissed you.

Miranda!

I'm objectively right. And I'm so happy for you!

I hate you so much right now

Ginny and Mateo sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-

Shut up.

Mateo and Ginny both look rather pleased with themselves as they join the group, holding hands.

"Finally!" Hermione exclaims, squeezing Mateo's shoulder. "Took the two of you long enough."

"Please let me be there when you tell Ron," Miranda begs, clasping her hands together.

"I second that," Harry agrees, laughing at the thought. Miranda can picture it now. Finally her brother would be getting a taste of his own medicine.

Mateo pales, voice suddenly wavering, "Blimey I almost forgot about that" He gulps nervously, "Do you think he'll be angry?"

"Well, you're loads better than Dean, but you're still dating his little sister..." Hermione trails off, wincing. Her and Miranda share a smile.

Karma.

I don't know what you're referring to.

Puhlease. Do you not remember how you were when you met Harry?

I was not that bad.

You totally were.

I was very accommodating of you and Harry.

Bullshit.

The next morning at breakfast, everyone is talking about Katie Bell's reappearance. Hermione and Miranda deigned not to go to the Great Hall that day. Hermione said it was because she had to study, but Miranda knew it was really because her friend didn't want to see Lavender's and Ron's lips glued together, so Miranda had offered to stay behind and keep Hermione company. TO be honest, she wasn't sure she could stomach another morning of Lavender's ear piercing "Won- Won'.

Meanwhile, back in the Great Hall, the Quidditch team is still reveling in their glorious win of last night. Mateo pulls Ron away to talk to him about the whole Ginny situation as Ginny eyes them both warily, ready to jump in and yell at Ron for being a prat at any moment. Harry takes this opportunity to go and talk to Katie Bell. He still can't shake the idea that Malfoy had something to do with that necklace. And, given that Miranda is occupied for the time being, as is Hermione, he can do it without scrutiny.

Some may have accused him of becoming obsessive.

He approaches her slowly, as soon as Katie sees him she prefaces, "I know what you're going to ask Harry, but I'm sorry, I don't know who gave me the necklace. I barely remember that day."

"Right", Harry is disappointed, but doesn't press the matter further. Obsessive. He wasn't obsessive. "Well thanks anyways, Katie."

He sees Malfoy out of the corner of his eye, obviously eavesdropping on their conversation, and watches as he stalks away quickly. He dashes down the marble staircase and along the passageway below. Outside the bathroom, he presses his ear against the door. He cannot hear anything. He very quietly pushes the door open.

Draco Malfoy is standing with his back to the door, his hands clutching either side of the ceramic sink, his white-blond head bowed. Malfoy's tie is undone. He splashes water on his face frantically, sucking in deep shuddering breaths. He mutters to himself agitatedly, pacing back and forth in front of the mirror. He looks scared. Terrified.

"No one can help me," says Malfoy. His whole body is shaking. "I can't do it. . . . I can't. . . . It won't work . . . and unless I do it soon . . . he says he'll kill me. . . ."

And Harry realizes, with a shock so huge it seems to root him to the spot, that Malfoy is crying — actually crying — tears streaming down his pale face into the grimy basin. Malfoy gasps and gulps and then, with a great shudder, looks up into his cracked reflection and saw Harry staring at him over his shoulder.

Malfoy wheels around, drawing his wand. Instinctively, Harry pulls out his own. Malfoy's hex misses Harry by inches, shattering the lamp on the wall beside him; Harry throws himself sideways, thought Levicorpus! and flicks his wand, but Malfoy blocks the jinx and raises his wand for another. There is a loud bang and the bin behind Harry explodes; Harry attempts a Leg-Locker Curse that backfires off the wall behind Malfoy's ear and smashes the cistern. Water pours everywhere and Harry slips as Malfoy, his face contorted, cries, "Cruci —"

"SECTUMSEMPRA!" bellows Harry from the floor, waving his wand wildly.

Blood spurts from Malfoy's face and chest as though he has been slashed with an invisible sword. He staggers backward and collapses onto the waterlogged floor with a great splash, his wand falling from his limp right hand.

"No —" gasps Harry.
Slipping and staggering, Harry gets to his feet and plunges toward Malfoy, whose face is now shining scarlet, his white hands scrabbling at his blood-soaked chest.

"No — I didn't —"

Harry does not know what he is saying; he falls to his knees beside Malfoy, who is shaking uncontrollably in a pool of his own blood, the blossoming red staining his white shirt. He writhes, bleeding profusely, the dark liquid gushing out of him at an alarming rate. The blood mixes with the puddles of water on the floor. Malfoy is choking, drowning in his own blood, barely hanging on.

The door bangs open behind Harry and he looks up, horrified; Mateo has burst into the room, his face livid. "Matt I—" Harry tries to explain, at a loss.

"Shut up and let me fix it," Mateo growls, summoning his courage. Pushing Harry roughly aside, he kneels over Malfoy, draws his wand, and traces it over the deep wounds Harry's curse had made, muttering an incantation that sounds almost like song. "Vulnera Sanentur. Vulnera Sanentur. Vulnera Sanentur." The flow of blood seems to ease; Mateo wipes the residue from Malfoy's face and repeats his spell. Now the wounds seem to be knitting.

Harry is still watching, nauseated by what he had done, barely aware that he too is soaked in blood and water. When Mateo has performed his countercurse for the third time, he half-lifts Malfoy into a standing position. Gesturing for Harry to lift the other side. He obeys without a word. "You need the hospital wing. There may be a certain amount of scarring, but if you take dittany immediately we might avoid even that. . . . Come. . . ." They support Malfoy across the bathroom, "We'll take you to Madam Pomfrey and that's it, you won't tell anyone what happened. Do I make myself clear?" Mateo's mouth sits in a thin line. Draco starts to protest, weakly. Mateo's response is cold, calculated. "I could've left you there to die Malfoy, and I don't think you'd want anyone to know you were about to use an Unforgivable Curse on Harry. Would you?" He stares him down, voice filled with an icy fury.

Malfoy sucks in his cheeks angrily. "Fine," he spits, as they leave him at the door to the infirmary.

The boys walk down the hall in silence, returning to the bloody bathroom once more to clean up.

"Matt— I didn't mean it to happen," says Harry at once. His voice echoes in the cold, watery space. Mateo siphons blood and water from the floor, not even indicating he's heard Harry, features stony. "I didn't know what that spell did."

Mateo scrubs angrily at the tiles, "You should never ever use spells that you haven't been taught." His teeth are gritted. Even in his anger he was controlled, cool. Somehow, Mateo always managed to keep his composure. A direct opposition to his sister's volatile temper. "It's dangerous. If I hadn't been there Draco would have died." He emphasize this. He needs it to sink in. He needs Harry to feel that the worst almost happened. "Is that what you want? To be a killer? That makes us just as bad as them."

"I—I made a mistake." Harry kicks a wall, pained.

"A big mistake," Mateo clenches his jaw.

"Matt..." Harry says, almost pleadingly. He doesn't need him to forgive him. He knows he's disappointed. Though not as disappointed Harry is in himself. He does need something though. Something important.

"What?" Mateo snaps curtly, avoiding eye contact. He straightens up, combing through his hair. The bathroom has been wiped clean of tragedy, no crimson flowers remain.

Harry looks at him, solemn, "We can't—" He struggles for a moment, voice tight, "We have to keep this a secret from Miranda."

"You want me to lie to my sister?" Mateo's blue eyes go dark, unforgiving. He passes by Harry on their way out the door, his stance hostile.

"She—her relationship with Draco is complicated," Harry rationalizes. He knows Mateo won't want to listen to him. But he has to. Harry has to make him see. For Miranda. "And she's five seconds away from falling apart. Just promise me you won't tell her. I'm trying to protect her. Trust me."

"Fine," Mateo relents, his expression thawing slightly. "But not for you. For her."

"I understand," Harry looks down at his feet. "I really am sorry Matt. I hate Malfoy, but I don't—I'm not a murderer. I'm not like them, like...him."

"I know Harry. I know." Matt sighs heavily, swinging the portrait hole open. Harry heads up to his room to change his clothes, where he finds Miranda.

"Hey Harry!" She smiles brightly, glad to see him. She'd missed him this morning. Miranda pauses from rummaging though his dresser. "I was just looking for my grey hoodie," she shuts the top drawer. "I think I left it in here the other day." She moves fairly about the room, peering in the hamper. If Ron put it in there she was going to kill him. "How was—mmph!" Harry collapses against her, enveloping her in a large hug.

"Hi, love," he murmurs into her air, words muffled and thick with emotion

"Hi?" Miranda whispers, caught off guard at this sudden affection. "Is everything—?" Her question is lost as she feels his face, damp. And her own neck, stained with salty, sticky tears. "Harry—oh my god, are you alright?" She takes his face in her hands, peering at him with concern.

Harry's eyes are round and wet, tortured, "I have to get rid of the book, Mandy. I have to get rid of it."

Miranda frowns anxiously at Harry's grief stricken expression. She's never seen him quite like this before. It's unsettling. "Okay— okay," she soothes, gripping his shoulders. "Hey—it's ok."

"No— no! It's not okay!" Harry grabs his hair, digging wildly through his school bag, "I have to get rid of it. I can't have it anymore. The book is bad, I have to let it go." He paces around the room, throwing open closets and flinging quills and parchment and socks at random.

"What book?" Miranda is bewildered by Harry's reaction, and a little wary. "Harry calm down—" her heart pounds and she reaches out for him. He's manic. "You're scaring me."

Harry finally finds what he's looking for, "My Potions book. I'm sorry, Mandy I don't want to frighten you. Hermione was right all along. I can't use it. It has to be hidden. I have to get rid of it."

"Okay, Harry." Miranda puts her hands on his chest.

"Okay? No more questions?" Harry is shocked.

"I trust you," she says, hushed. And she does. Trust, especially at the moment, is key in their relationship. Miranda and Harry have both been lied to so many times it is hard to tell what reality is anymore. "If you say you need to get rid of it, then you need to get rid of it. C'mon we'll do it together."

"I love you," he chokes out, wrapping his arms around her.

"I love you too."

Miranda and Harry walk to the Room of Requirement, and Miranda makes Harry count to thirty as she hides the book deep within the piles of random objects. They return to the common room hand in hand, Harry tells her he needs to go lay down for a bit, and Miranda nods, watching him go worriedly.

She marches down to the library, where her brother is lounging against a window, scribbling a Runes translation. Miranda grabs him round the wrist, hissing, "I need to talk to you."

"About?" Mateo fidgets under her gaze. Praying that she won't search his thoughts. He'd made a promise.

Miranda tugs him into an empty row of shelves. "What happened this morning?"

"What do you mean?" says Mateo airily, eyes darting about the room.

She taps her foot impatiently, arms crossed. She's like a dog with a bone when she wants something. Stubborn to no end. Miranda McGonagall gets results. "Harry's a wreck, he came back and absolutely lost it."

"How would I know—?"

"He has blood on his tie."

"What?"

"You have blood on your shoe."

"I don't—" Mateo is like a fish flopping in a fisherman's net. He knows he's been caught, and yet still he wiggles hopelessly for a way out

"You're keeping something from me again, Matt." Miranda's patience is waning. Her brother cannot lie to her. She won't have it.

"I can't tell you, Miranda," he says tiredly, glaring furtively behind him."Why?" demands Miranda, forgetting to keep her voice low.

"It's for your own—"

Her temper flares. She has heard the refrain too much lately. From Dumbledore. Hermione. Remus. Harry. "Don't even finish that sentence Mateo Ezekiel McGonagall, or so help me god I will—"

"Wow," Mateo whistles, impressed. "Pulling out the big guns are we? Using my middle name, Miranda Euphemia McGonagall? Did mum and dad hate us or what?"

"I know right," she starts, in whole hearted agreement. Not even Hermione knows her middle name. It's a point of great humiliation for her  really. I mean what had her parents— Miranda gasps in realization. "Hey," she huffs angrily. "Stop trying to change the subject. You have to tell me."

"I can't," he insists staunchly, growing irritated.

"Why not?" Miranda will not give up. She won't. Matt has to know that.

"I just can't," Mateo repeats gruffly.

Miranda exhales through her teeth. Damn her twin brother. He could be just as stubborn as she when he wanted to. "Well—then you have to at least tell me why Harry broke down over that stupid book, and don't play dumb. I know you know something about that fucking Half Blood Prince."

Fine.

Miranda notes the obvious switch of speaking plainly to the silent communication. He must really be about to tell her something.

Really?

But only if you promise to stop asking about this morning.

Deal.

It's Severus.

Huh?

Severus is the Half Blood Prince.

Snape?

Yeah, it's from his mother's maiden name. Eileen Prince.

So all this time—Harry's been using Snape's old book? Anything else you forgot to mention about your pal Severus?

He's in love with Lily.

WHAT?! Lily—as in Lily Potter? As in Harry's mom?!

The one and only. They were best friends at Hogwarts, met before they even got accepted. That's why he helps Dumbledore.

And why you never doubted he was on our side.

Pretty much.

And holy shit he hates Harry because he reminds him too much of Lily and James. The love he lost.

Now you're figuring it out.

Why didn't you just tell me?

To be honest, it was kinda fun keeping you in the dark.

I hope a dragon eats you in your sleep.

"Goodbye, Professor." They all wave to Slughorn as they close the door to his chambers behind them. They had been the last people there, watching with hidden smiles as Slughorn regaled them with tales of his youth.

"He was hammered," Miranda leans her head on Harry's shoulder, yawning. They'd stayed there long past what any of them had wanted. But for some unknown reason Harry had wanted to linger. He had been oddly engaged with Slughorn this evening— the past couple evenings actually. And Miranda wasn't going to just leave him. Not that she wanted to.

Besides, she did look good.  Sparkly heels and a sheer, light blue midi dress that set off her eyes. Hermione had done her hair up, and curls were piled atop her head in a messy but gorgeous fashion.

Harry had basically drooled at the sight of her. It was pretty great.

"Absolutely blasted," Mateo agrees, laughing heartily, one arm around Hermione, and one around Ginny.

"We really shouldn't talk about a teacher like this," chides Hermione, forever the moral compass. But Miranda can see her lips twitching.

"C'mon Hermione," Ginny looks around at her, snickering. "Even you have to admit he was drunker than my uncle at weddings."

Hermione giggles, "And he just kept drinking didn't he? I thought he was going to topple over at the end." All four of them look at her in surprise.

"Who knew you had it in you Granger?" Mateo cheers, clapping her on the back. The group  devolves into delirious laughter, and they are shushed angrily by the sleeping portraits, which only causes them to laugh harder. It's the kind of amusement that comes very late in the night, a sleep deprived, whimsical sort of hilarity.

"I should go," Mateo mentions, thumbing Ginny's cheek. Often, almost weekly, now, Mateo visits with Snape. Miranda isn't sure why. He lived with the bat for years, and Miranda feels as thought that's enough Snape for a lifetime. All the same, she supposes it's best if one of them is on his good side.

"Can't Snape wait five seconds?" Ginny complains, pouting..

Mateo shrugs, smiling, "Severus is not a patient man."

"Well, sure—but does Severus snog as good as me?" Ginny smirks, pulling Mateo in for a kiss.

Despite her initial disgust at seeing her brother participating in amorous activities, Miranda is fond of their antics, glad her brother has found someone that makes him happy.

"Goodnight Gin," Mateo kisses her a final time, before bidding them all a goodnight and making his way to the professor's quarters.

You'll—

I'll tell you everything when I come back, Miranda.

Good. No more secrets.

No more secrets...

"Since my boyfriend decided he would rather spend time with greasy old Snape," Ginny rolls her eyes, resting her chin upon Miranda's shoulder. "Do you and Hermione want to come up to my room?" She offers, "Have a girls' night? Away from Lav Lav..." Ginny knows just as well as Miranda that living in the same dorm with her  has been a source of great displeasure for Hermione.

"Alright," Hermione nods gratefully, and Miranda starts to do the same, but Harry interrupts.

"Can I steal her tonight, Gin?"

"Fine Potter, but just remember she was ours first," Ginny squints, planting a kiss on Miranda's cheek before waltzing up the stairs with Hermione.

"And do try not to give her any hickeys this time, Harry." Hermione calls out in parting, eyes dancing. "I only have so many turtlenecks."

"You're not mad are you?" Harry questions, as they walk back to the dormitories. He's nervous. And when he's nervous he starts to do this very cute babbling thing. "You can go with them if you want, Mandy. I just missed you and I wanted to spend some time with you away from everyone but—" Miranda just kisses him, shutting him up in an instant. A broad, cocky grin takes over his face, transforming him. He puffs out his chest, "I take it that means you're alright with it."

"Be quiet," says Miranda against his lips, reddening.

"If you insist." They kiss all the way up to his dorm, fumbling around in the dark. She kicks her heels off, padding barefoot across the carpet.

Miranda sifts through Harry's clothes, trying to find the sweats she usually keeps in here. She sighs, absentmindedly removing her earring, "I still have some DADA homework to do, and Auntie assigned that paper for Transfiguration. " Miranda lets down her hair, blond curls tumbling down around her shoulders in a mesmerizing cascade of gold. She continues on, mindlessly running through her thoughts, "They're just piling on the work these days." Still talking about classes, she wriggles out of her dress, leaving her only in the tiny slip she'd had on underneath. "So I was thinking—" she stops mid sentence when she notices Harry grinning at her from his place on the bed.

"What?" Miranda puts her hands on her hips, lips twisting slightly, her curves amplified by her current state of attire.

"Nothing just—enjoying the view," Harry's mouth quirks up mischievously, betraying his tone of innocence.

Miranda shakes her head, cheeks burning— entire body burning. Flustered, she struggles with her zipper. "Actually Harry—can you unzip me?" She sits primly down on the edge of the bed next to him and lifts  her hair.

He pulls the zipper down with care, slipping the thin strap of the dress off of Miranda's shoulder delicately. Miranda gets goosebumps as he begins to kiss the bare parts of her neck and shoulder.

"Harry..." she breathes softly. His kisses are intoxicating, she wants more, more of him.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No," she states simply, pulling herself onto his lap and kissing him deeper. Their tongues exploring each other's mouths. Miranda starts to tug at his tie and unbutton his shirt, completely lost in— "Wait," her hands still on his collar, and Harry lets out a groan.

"What?"

His hands inch up her thighs, and Miranda forces herself to focus. "Hermione and Ginny are in Ginny's room right?"

"Mmhhm."

"Mateo's with Snape."

Harry's mouth is on her mouth, her neck, her earlobe. "Mmhmm."

"Ron's with Lavender" Her stomach swoops and dips.

Harry is growing impatient, kisses messy and long and her whole body is reacting. She's addicted to him. "Mmhmm." He's so hot. How is she expected to have conversation when he's this hot?

"So we—" she confirms, dizzy.

"We're alone, Mandy." Miranda practically rips Harry's shirt off of him, running her hands over his muscular chest. Her slip is falling down even more now, exposing her lacy bra.

The slip comes off completely, and Harry slides out of his pants, Miranda still straddling him, kissing his jaw as he unclips her bra in the back. In one quick move, he flips her over onto the bed so that he is now hovering above her. Miranda's eyes flutter closed with sheer pleasure as he sucks very inch of her bare skin, leaving love bites that trail all over her body.

"God—you're beautiful." Harry looks at her with so much love in his eyes. Miranda's heart beats faster, now he's kissing her long and slow. Her lips are raw as she kisses him more passionately, pulling his body closer to hers. His hands pin her wrists down to the mattress and she shudders. "Are— are you sure?" Harry asks. Miranda nods, biting her lip. "Words, Mandy, I need you to say it."

"Yes," she whispers into the moonlit night, gazing up at him.

"I love you."

"I love you."

Miranda and Harry lay facing each other, noses touching as their chests heave. Harry's hair is the messiest Miranda has ever seen it, and she loves every single thing about it. Every single thing about him.

Miranda nuzzles into him, her face is flushed and glowing. She sighs contentedly, "I want to stay here forever." The haunting light of the moon is washing her face in a shimmering hue. "This—this moment. It's perfect."

"Me too, Mandy," Harry threads his finger through her hair, splayed out on the pillow. He draws her nearer to him.

"Do you ever wonder how our lives would've been if we were normal?" Miranda traces the lines of his chest with her fingertips.

"Normal?" Harry laughs. "Never heard of it."

"You know what I mean," Miranda stares up at the ceiling. This is something she's been thinking a lot about recently. A lot. Ever since that night before holiday. Sometimes she just wants an escape. "Just regular boyfriend and girlfriend. Not The Chosen One and The Lucky One. We'd go to school, not worry about dying, and you'd have one of those contraptions Muggles use to get around—"

"Cars?" Harry mumbles sleepily into her neck, curling around her.

"Yeah," Miranda continues, smiling to herself. The images flash before her. "You'd have a car and you'd pick me up for dates, and we'd go somewhere completely normal for teenagers. Like a—a—?"

"Movie theatre?" Harry plays along, the faint stubble on his jawline tickling her slightly. His arms are draped over her chest and torso, and it is almost endearing how clingy he is right now.

"I don't what that is," she tells him. Though it sounds nice. Normal.  "But okay, a movie theatre, and the biggest problem on our minds would be graduation, or getting good grades, and we wouldn't have to save the world."

"Normal sounds nice," Harry looks at Miranda, twisting her curls around his finger. His attention is on her now. "Tell me more, what happens when we're older?"

Miranda closes her eyes, dreaming, "We'd live on the coast, somewhere by a beach, but also by the mountains and forest so that it can still get cold during the winter."

"We'd have a cozy house, not too big, not too small," Harry adds, getting lost in the fantasy as well. "And a garden. And we'd fill it with warm things—soft things. Blankets and rugs, and a dog, or a cat."

"One story or two?" Miranda imagines..

"Two," decides Harry, licking his lips. "Because we'd need more space for the kids when they come."

Miranda nearly chokes. "Kids?"

"I was thinking three or four—"

"Three or four?!" Miranda cries out, incredulous and a little frightened at the prospect. "I'm the one that has to birth them! Do you know how many diapers that is?"

"It'll all be worth it because our home will never be quiet or lonely," Harry whispers. Miranda knows he is thinking of his own childhood, spent under the stairs, being bullied and brought down and berated. Being made to feel like nothing. "No one has to feel alone," he repeats. Miranda's heart aches painfully for him. Harry is not nothing. Harry is her everything. Everything. "Unless they want to," say Harry. "And love—there will be so much love. And I'll change the diapers, even the gross ones."

Miranda looks up at the starry sky wistfully, "I wish—"

"Shhh," Harry puts a finger on her lips, silencing her, "as long as we're here, right now, in this perfect moment. It's real. Normal is real. As long as we have each other it's real—it's possible. You love me, and I love you, and we're forever, Miranda. We can get through anything. I promise."

Miranda falls asleep soundly, dreaming of their warm house by the ocean, her and Harry's hearts beating as one.